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Ye hills, near neebors o' the starns,
Where echo slumbers ! Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns,
My wailing numbers !
Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens !
Wi' toddlin din,
Frae lin to lin.
Mourn, little harebells o'er the lea;
In scented bow'rs;
The first o’ flow'rs.
At dawn, when ev'ry grassy blade
I'th' rustling gale,
Ye maukins whiddin thro' the glade,
Come join my wail.
Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood;
the heather-bud; Ye curlews calling thro’a clud;
Ye whistling plover; And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood :
He's gane for ever !
Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals,
Circling the lake;
Rair for his sake.
Mourn, clam'ring craiks at close o' day, ’Mang fields o’ flow’ring claver gay; And when ye wing your annual way
Frae our cauld shore, Tell thae far warlds, wba lies in clay,
Wham we deplore.
Ye houlets, frae your ivy bow'r,
What time the moon, wi' silent glow'r,
Sets up her horn,
Till waukrife morn!
O rivers, forests, hills, and plains !
But tales of woe;
Maun ever flow.
Mourn, Spring, thou darling of the year!
its head. Thy gay, green, flow'ry tresses shear
For him that's dead!
Thou, Autumn, wi' thy yellow hair,
The roaring blast,
The worth we've lost !
Mourn him, thou Sun, great source of light !
My Matthew mourn!
Ne'er to return.
O Henderson ! the man ! the brother !
Life's dreary bound!
The world around ?
Go to your sculptur'd tombs, ye Great,
Thou man of worth!
best fellow's fate E’er lay in earth.
LAMENT OF MARY, QUEEN OF
ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING,
OW Nature hangs her mantle green
On every blooming tree,
And glads the azure skies ;
That fast in durance lies.
Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn,
Aloft on dewy wing;
Makes woodland echoes ring;
Sings drowsy day to rest :
Wi' care nor thrall opprest.
The primrose down the brae;